Do Not Be One Passerby
A Poem for Humanity
Curbside a homeless man huddles under an old tarp
Blowing into a harmonica, I recognize the Hollie’s song
His lips pursed, focused only on his music, blocking out
The backdrop of society just as society blocks out him
He plays an oldie but a goodie; a forever keepsake while
Pressed suits and Channel handbags scurry on by
Carelessly tossing coins into his tattered russet hat,
Some change misses, hitting the pavement; plinking
Coppers and silvers scattered like breadcrumbs thrown
To desperate pigeons yet pigeons are intelligent birds
Who mankind perceives useless foul; oblivious people
Ears glued to cellulars and fingertips texting entranced by
Social media; ping, Facebook messenger is calling!
Plinking coins continue as traffic racing by becomes congested;
Jammed up, taxi cab drivers shout obscenities out of rolled down
Windows while flicking cigarette butts, impatient for next fares
Street washers brushing, construction workers barking orders
Over screaming drills, hammering partitions; commotion
Nothing diverts the grey haired man from his harmonica
Not even the sun playing peekaboo behind rainclouds
An April forecast is anyone’s best guess, rain, and maybe snow
For him the sun always shines although metaphorically speaking
His spirit has not weathered despite his appearance; survivor
A furrowed forehead and silver mane suggests history
Much more so than that of an aging lonely Man
His improper footwear is like that of balding tires
I wonder how many miles we would have to walk
Before filling those same shoes with proper mileage
A parade of rainbow umbrellas strolls past him lowering
By anxious tourists as the morning hour squalls subside,
Toting along shopping bags, luggage rolling behind, stopping
For group photos and selfies posting in haste to Instagram
Top priorities and big goals for humans do you not know?
Attention turns; the aroma of hot dog stands and pretzels
Draw people in like vultures; hovering behind me in line
Waiting my turn, The Hollie’s song plays on repeat
I think to myself it sounds even better the second time
It is a shame that folks are deaf; a concert for one I suppose
“ One frank with the works and a hot chocolate coming right up”
Concession guy replies rewarding with extra onions and relish
Order in hand I zigzag through the crowd to an open seat
Next to the Man; he lifts his head and pauses his song
Lightheartedly smiling at my gesture a connection is made
In unison we sing the lyrics of the classic together:
“He’s not heavy he’s my brother”
I
About the Creator
Marilyn Glover
I am a top Medium writer, editor, and owner of the publication Third Eye Gypsy. Poetry and spirituality are my favorite genres, and I like writing about topics often left untouched. Follow me at: https://gmarilyn009.medium.com/
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